


lightning, unbidden

by luciferTM



Series: where light chooses to fall [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 07:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12185769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luciferTM/pseuds/luciferTM
Summary: Tsukishima’s arms are dotted with white.Bruises run from the tips of his fingers up to his elbow. The marring on the rest of his arms and his legs is more scarce. As if to compensate, when, say, his knee does get stained, it’s a huge icy spot that hurts even to look at -- in Yamaguchi’s words.None of it is pleasant for Tsukishima to look at.In which the pale trace of your soulmates' wounds shows up on your own body, and Tsukishima is torn between annoyance and inexplicable curiosity.





	lightning, unbidden

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my sweetheart [lynne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silpium) for betaing! you're a huge help always
> 
> i hadn't planned on writing this fic. i had had a really bad mental health day and read a lot of fanfic to get through it, somehow wrote most of this during the night in a weird flash of inspiration, then spent quite a lot of time chipping at it. hope you guys enjoy, i'm glad i could write something for them, impromptu as it was.

Tsukishima’s arms are dotted with white.  
Bruises run from the tips of his fingers up to his elbow. The marring on the rest of his arms and his legs is more scarce. As if to compensate, when, say, his knee does get stained, it’s a huge icy spot that hurts even to look at -- in Yamaguchi’s words.  
None of it is pleasant for Tsukishima to look at.

It starts in elementary school and becomes more and more prominent as the months trickle by. Yamaguchi speculates about it, once or twice, but Tsukishima’s scowl gets the better of his enthusiasm. Outlasts it, too.

There is no point lingering on the things he cannot change.  
Tsukishima makes a list of possibilities because trying to avoid thinking about it, when everyone was rambling on about their own soulmate, was like trying to ignore an itch. If you kept your cool long enough, you could think of the itch and deliberately avoid scratching it, but all it took was a blink, and you would claw at it while your mind was otherwise occupied.

Thus, Tsukishima writes it down, once and for all. His hypotheses are the following:

> 1\. His soulmate is getting bullied. Unlikely: if someone was purposefully inflicting these injuries, the location wouldn’t have been made so consistent, would it? If he’d found himself with patches of snow under his skin, at the ribs or on his back, he might have given this possibility more thought. As he did not, it was mostly overruled.  
>  2\. They are incredibly clumsy. Also rejected. He doubts anyone could be awkward to that degree.  
>  3\. They are the reckless kind. The kind to fight, break things, but especially, to move through life with little care as to what they bump into. Tsukishima is able to imagine this more easily, even though it’s not a theory he’s fond of.  
>  4\. They are doing some kind of activity -- or sports -- on a regular basis, that is physically demanding, no, _damaging_ enough for them to end up like this. Tsukishima comes up with that theory because of his brother. Needless to say, it wasn’t an option he found himself liking very much either, and it was the most reasonable one.

He ends up letting go of the matter entirely. He doesn’t have to know; and if, or when, he finds out, he doesn’t have to stick around long enough to care.  
Soulmates are no more than convenient sets, courtesy of nature, biological and chemical matchmaking. A compatibility that says little about the individual themselves, rooted in nothing more than a need, perhaps, for connection, lest there be a lack thereof.  
_Isn’t any kind of attraction like that?_ Yamaguchi asks when Tsukishima shares that very point of view. _Just a starting point?_  
_Exactly. They aren’t an obligation_ , Tsukishima retorts. They both know that’s not the whole answer. Yamaguchi doesn’t push the matter, content to sip away at his apple juice and vent about whatever supplement of homework teachers have given them that day, and Tsukishima, soothed by the familiarity of it, nearly misses his chance to make a pointed jab at him for not studying enough as it is and invite him over in strides, so they can tackle it together. 

During his last years of middle school, the bruises become rarer and rarer. Tsukishima wears long sleeves, still. He blames his soulmate, whoever they are, for the sensitivity he has developed to the cold over the years -- a bother in the summer. When his growth spurt hits, his mother buys him a new uniform so he doesn’t have to keep tugging uselessly at his sleeves.

“It’s a relief, isn’t it?” Yamaguchi says.

Tsukishima shrugs. He doubts that it marks the end of it, and he’s right.

A few months before his graduation from middle school, his forearms become almost entirely white.

 

  
─

  


“Maybe they’re doing some sort of combat sport, like kendo,” his mother tells him.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get hurt that much during kendo matches,” Tsukishima says, focused on cutting his scrambled eggs with quick strokes of the chopsticks. “They prioritize precision over the use of brute force, and the body hardens with time, I’ve heard.”

_Which most likely is why the marks had started making themselves scarce_ , he thinks. His final jab at the egg a bit more aggressive than need be. _Until now._

She hums. “You know so much.” She drops one more bowl of soup on the table and settles beside them. “What do you think, Akiteru?”

“I think that Kei is bound to find out eventually,” Akiteru answers. Tsukishima doesn’t raise his gaze from his food. “If he doesn’t, there’s that. You shouldn’t worry.”

“I know I shouldn’t.” Tsukishima frowns. The fact that he has been thinking the same way suddenly unsettles him. “I just don’t like it,” he adds after a long moment, unsure himself of what _it_ exactly is.

Akiteru, with a small smile, nods, and stares like he wants to respond but the words elude him. Only when Tsukishima meets his gaze, searching, does he look away.

 

  
─

  


People have learned to stop asking, even the most tactless of the brand new teammates he’s found himself with. He still hates the way Kageyama, who was about to pull his shirt over his head, stops and starts like a jammed engine, the way Hinata’s eyes widen in something like understanding.  
As if.

 

  
─

  


Despite his small size, the newcomer is the epicenter of the enthusiasm sizzling in the gym on this particular day. Tsukishima’s eyes fall to the back of his shirt -- _One man army._

“Ah,” Tsukishima mutters, and Yamaguchi blinks in surprise.  
_Guardian deity, was it? Lord, that’s ridiculous_.

Hinata glances over. “Ah, you weren’t with us the other day. This is the Karasuno prodigy that Daichi mentioned!”

Tsukishima sighs inwardly, knowing that term to be an ill-omen, especially when Hinata bothers to accentuate it. His suspicions are confirmed: Nishinoya beams upon hearing it.

_Egotistical spotlight seeker?_

“Nishinoya Yuu,” he says. He holds Tsukishima’s gaze, a keen curiosity in his eyes. Steadfast on his feet, with the allure of a flame. Tsukishima understands why Hinata is already so taken. This is the kind of brazenness he naturally gets along with. “Nice to meet you! I’m a libero, and, ahhhh, stop it,” he tells Hinata, face flushing. “I can’t believe Daichi said that…”

_Maybe not._

“The other first years, huh? Well, come in!”

“Um, how come you weren’t here before?” Yamaguchi asks.

“I got suspended,” Nishinoya says. 

“Oh, we have a _delinquent now_ ,” Tsukishima deadpans.

“Tsukishima!” Hinata hisses. “Rude!”

“You thought the same thing yesterday,” Kageyama points out, and Hinata shoots him a glare. Nishinoya smirks. 

“Sorry to disappoint. I accidentally broke a dumb vase, is all.” A stormy look darkens his gaze in remembrance then clears away as he grips the ball. “Anyway, come here, I’ll teach you some receives! I’m your senpai after all.”

“Yes! Please, senpai!” Hinata perks up.

They gather by his side, watchful, albeit utterly confused by the assortment of onomatopoeia he dares to call “explanation.”  
The fluidity of his movements -- _grace_ , Tsukishima’s mind supplies unhelpfully -- dissolves the dry comment on the tip of Tsukishima’s tongue.

Tsukishima doesn’t realize he was leaning forward until Nishinoya complains: “Quit looming over me! How tall are you?”

“Oh, Tsukki is--”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

On Nishinoya’s arms, there are different shades for different impacts, different instants -- from yellow to black.  
Tsukishima doesn’t bother drawing a mental comparison. Even as he regains some distance and composure, Nishinoya being the kind of person that is harder to tune out doesn’t account for his wanting--

_Wanting_ , if he even remembers what that’s like, to listen.

 

  
─

  


Nishinoya’s technique is so impeccable that even someone who is new to the volleyball world like Hinata cannot help but to notice and gape in wonder. His grin is wide and vivacious, eager without a single hint of restraint. His voice booms across the gym, to encourage his underclassmen, to compliment Kiyoko, or to share his excitement with Tanaka. Yet, Tsukishima notices, a faint sinking feeling in his stomach, he burns with a calm that is the mark of the faith one puts in their own determination.  
Nishinoya is perfectly quiet on the court. Like a lightning storm, roaring only when it’s not busy striking.

He offers to buy all of the first years ice cream, not just Hinata. He pays no mind to Tsukishima’s barbed speech, neither forces conversation nor relents his attempts at friendship. He is stupidly loyal, to the point of turning away from the sport he loves. He downplays his own talent as a player and never minces his words when it comes to others. 

Insatiable, relentless, thunderous Nishinoya, whose arms are covered in bruises.

In hindsight, he should have expected this particular brand of recklessness.  
For all that Daichi described Nishinoya as a genius, Tsukishima knows for a fact that he owes much more of his prowess to hard work, to his unfathomable determination.  
The truth of it is etched into his flesh, in the shiver that runs down his back when Nishinoya executes one difficult receive after another and static electricity kisses Tsukishima’s arms up and down.

“That one was slightly off,” Nishinoya says, eyes flashing with dissatisfaction. “Keep ‘em coming!”

“Eh? It looked great!”

“Maybe for your level, Hinata…”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean, dumbass Kageyama?”

The mindful, precise way Nishinoya’s limbs sprung out, he hadn’t anticipated at all. 

Tsukishima evades Yamaguchi’s concerned gaze, thinking in the privacy of his own mind: _As far as prodigies go, I’d have preferred another selfish king_.  
And wishes he meant it.

Nishinoya is a carefully calculated leap of faith, a walking contradiction, an enigma.

 

  
─

  


Tsukishima doesn’t shy away from it.  
He lets it happen for the same reason he came to Karasuno and filled out the volleyball form application.  
His desire to understand the passion that drives everyone else is there, sour on his tongue, hollow to his own ears. Not to share it; he has long retreated behind the impossibility of yearning and sacrificing so much for meaningless goals, greeted the rational pull of resignation.

But he cannot seem to stay away either. The itch has turned to a phantom limb, the kind that makes his fingers feel numb in comparison.

Tsukishima changes in the clubroom as he has always done: without speaking of it, hurrying or hiding. It takes less than one week after Asahi’s return for Nishinoya to realize.

Tsukishima watches him from the corner of his eye, Nishinoya’s attentive gaze prickling his nape. He waits for Nishinoya to yell, gasp, perhaps joke about it to diffuse the initial tension.  
Nishinoya does nothing of the sort. He goes very still, back ramrod straight, his mouth rendered to a flat line, eyes zeroing on Tsukishima the way they would on a fast-dropping ball.

“Yuu--”

“I’ll join you later,” Nishinoya says. The unusual quiet of his voice leaves Tanaka speechless for a moment. His eyes dart from Tsukishima to Nishinoya, settle on Tsukishima’s arms, and he jolts. He leaves without another word, the rest of the first years in tow, muffling Hinata’s protest that he wasn’t done changing.

Tsukishima turns around, and Nishinoya bows. Deeply.

“I’m very sorry. I must have caused you to worry when you’ve given me little cause for concern these past few years.” He raises his head enough to meet Tsukishima’s gaze, his tone lighter, still in earnest. “I hope I can make it up to you now.”

“You don’t have to,” Tsukishima says. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Nishinoya frowns, stands upright. “I would like to. At the pace we’re going this year, I’m going to keep troubling you, you know?”

“It’s no trouble. I know why, now. I thought you should know about this as well. That’s all.”

Nishinoya opens his mouth in protest, thinks better of it. His shoulders slump in defeat. “Why?” he asks, softer than Tsukishima has ever heard him.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want it to be _all_?”

For a moment, the sadness in Nishinoya’s gaze leaves Tsukishima at a loss for words. Irritation rumbles in his chest.

“Did you expect something else? Some grand fairytale romance?”

“Nope,” Nishinoya exclaims, a smile returning to his lips. “I expected someone, and I got you. The rest is up to us, right?”

He holds out his hand.

“I’ll be in your care,” Nishinoya declares. “For whatever comes next.”

Tsukishima looks down at Nishinoya’s hand, then back at his face. He attempts to stare him down, but Nishinoya, smile unwavering, waits. 

And waits.

“We can do this all day, you know,” he says, breaking the silence. Tsukishima, who knows better than to assume Nishinoya isn’t being literal, begrudgingly extends his own hand. 

Nishinoya’s takes it and joins it with his own. “There! See, it wasn’t that hard!”

“Spare me,” Tsukishima says. 

Nishinoya’s grin turns coy.

 

  
─

  


Nishinoya has a strong grip, unsurprisingly.  
On the way home, Tsukishima keeps curling and uncurling his hand. Nishinoya’s touch lingers and buzzes under his skin like electricity; like a promise, unspoken.

Yamaguchi is waiting for him at the crossroad where the two of them usually part with the others.

“What did he say?”

_I expected someone._

“He apologized.”

“Good,” Yamaguchi says, and anybody other than Tsukishima would have been surprised by the fierce way he draws the word out. Lips stretched into a fainter, more sincere version of his gentle smile, Yamaguchi asks: “What will you do, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima’s hand clenches into a fist.

The air is vibrant with expectancy, setting him on edge. A recent downpour left the pavement and the gardens damp and bright. It’s spring, and the earth longs to become. The slowest of sprouts are still waiting, fighting against winter’s last scars; the birds on the powerline, shivering as though readying their wings.

_Nothing_ , he wants to say, but what comes out instead is:

“I don’t know yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> (they have chemistry wake up america)
> 
> i have a continuation to this planned, from nishinoya's pov. if you'd like to read it, dropping a kudo or comment would make for a huge encouragement ;w; i will do my best to get it done, they deserve it.  
> 


End file.
